


drinks/delirium

by Anonymous



Series: not that kind of arrangement [1]
Category: Rusty Quill Gaming (Podcast)
Genre: Do Not Archive, Explicit Sexual Content, Hand Jobs, Heavy Drinking, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Post-Coital Cuddling, Praise Kink, Trans Male Character, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, because of the heavy drinking, does that work for rqg too? or just tma?, i would just like to formally apologise to bryn & ben for this. sorry bryn. sorry ben, magic lube bc. idk. i felt like it.
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-15
Updated: 2019-04-15
Packaged: 2020-01-13 14:57:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,898
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18471289
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Zolf was a sailor. Zolf can hold his liquor. But maybe, trying to holdthis muchliquor was a bad idea.





	drinks/delirium

Zolf was a sailor. Zolf can hold his liquor. But maybe, trying to hold _this much_ liquor was a bad idea. Hamid laughs at whatever it is Zolf’s just said and puts a hand on his arm. And look, Zolf can hold his liquor, but Hamid holding his arm is far more difficult to reconcile. And look, Zolf can hold his liquor, but holding a conversation is a far more difficult feat. And look, Zolf can hold his liquor, but the hold the liquor has on him is far, _far_ stronger.

The conversation draws to a close as slowly as it can manage, and it’s just Zolf and Hamid in the bar. Hamid’s hand is searing through the sleeve of Zolf’s coat. The bar isn’t empty, far from it, but everyone in Zolf’s group has gone upstairs. Zolf raises a hand to flag the bartender. As he asks for the shots, he lets it drop to rest on Hamid’s waist. Hamid doesn’t seem to mind, leaning in slightly, squeezing Zolf’s arm.

And look, Zolf knows better than to have a drunken one-night-stand with an _employee._ And look, Zolf knows better than to charmed into bed by a man just because he paid for some of Zolf’s drinks. And look, Zolf knows better than to hook up with someone when he’s had one (two, three, no no, keep going, he’ll tell you when to stop) too many drinks. 

But _knowing_ and _remembering_ are very different things.

Hamid downs his shot in one continuous motion. Like there’s nothing to it. Like he’s done it a million times. And then he leans in, murmurs close to Zolf’s ear, “I think my room is big enough for two. If you’d like to join me.” Like there’s nothing to it. Like he’s done it a million times.

Zolf nearly swallows his own tongue, but he doesn’t stumble, because he knows how to fake being unaffected. Well, fake being unaffected by the alcohol. To fake being unaffected by the attractive man propositioning him is a bit more than Zolf could manage _sober,_ let alone in his current state of intoxication. He just gets down from the bar and gestures for Hamid to do the same. “I’ll follow your lead,” he says, and there’s something _hungry_ about the smile Hamid gives him.

(And look, Zolf knows this is a bad idea. And look, Zolf knows they’ll both regret this in the morning. And look, Zolf knows that this is going to be awkward as hell if they keep working together. But Hamid is _very_ attractive, and Zolf’s not going to look a gift horse in the mouth.)

Hamid’s kisses are desperate. Like if Zolf doesn’t come closer and kiss back, Hamid might waste away. So Zolf kisses back, sets his hands on Hamid’s waist and pulls him closer, walks them further toward the bed. And then Hamid breaks the kiss. “Wait,” he mumbles, maybe an inch away from Zolf’s mouth, “there’s something I need to tell you.”

(Stupid gift horses.)

Zolf loosens his grip on Hamid’s sides. “Hm?” he asks, and even though he doesn’t know what to expect, he increases the distance between them. It’s a bit awkward, having a conversation millimetres apart with your eyes closed.

And honestly, Zolf is glad he opened his eyes because Hamid is blushing, and he looks very pretty when he’s embarrassed like this. “I,” he says, “I, um,” and he takes a deep breath like he’s centring himself. “I don’t exactly _have…”_ he gestures vaguely, and Zolf raises an eyebrow, unsure of what he’s trying to say. Hamid grumbles in frustration, and the blush moves up, staining his nose and the points of his ears. “I’m not exactly… male? Biologically?” Zolf raises his other eyebrow. Hamid stutters, “I just figured I should tell you _before_ anything, because usually when someone just finds out, it doesn’t go over well, and I’d really rather get that out of the way before any of my clothes come off—” Zolf moves to close the distance between them, but Hamid flinches back. “Sorry,” he whispers, and Zolf is going to find whoever made him so afraid and _drown them._

(He wonders if Hamid will notice the faint transmutation scarring on his chest and around his cock, or if he’ll chalk it up to Zolf’s bad life choices. The fact that Hamid is here, quietly confessing that he’s less far along in his transition so that Zolf knows _before they have sex,_ is more than enough proof that Zolf makes a lot of bad life choices.)

Zolf slowly brings a hand up to cup Hamid’s cheek. “You’re still Hamid?” he clarifies, and Hamid nods. “You still want this?” Another nod. Zolf pulls him in for a kiss. “Then I can work with that,” he mumbles, maybe an inch away from Hamid’s mouth, “what do you want me to do?” Hamid surges forward, kisses him hard, and Zolf tightens his grip on Hamid’s waist.

(Zolf nearly swallows his own tongue when Hamid presses against him and makes a small moan. And look, Zolf isn’t stupid; he knows that this is just a tiny crush on an attractive man. And look, Zolf isn’t stupid; he knows that Hamid is just doing this because Zolf is there. And look, Zolf isn’t stupid; he knows this is going to happen once and then he’s going to be awkward about it until the end of time. But _hell_ if the way Hamid moves doesn’t distract him from that.)

Hamid is wearing far too many layers, and how he gets out of them so quickly without Zolf quite noticing is something he’ll attribute to Hamid’s magic and his own distinct lack of sobriety. He mouths at Hamid’s neck, and Hamid whines. (Zolf decides he likes that noise, and he silently sets his mind to hearing it as much as he can.) Hamid tugs at his armour. “How do you— what—” he pulls back and attempts to get the chain shirt off, but it gets caught on Zolf’s undershirt somewhere— “this is why I don’t wear armour,” he mutters, and he looks so put out about it that Zolf can’t help but kiss him again. 

It’s fairly simple to get the armour off by just removing the shirt under it as well. Zolf briefly considers making fun of Hamid for it, but then he’s a bit busy getting pushed down onto the bed to be anything near coherent. Hamid is warm, and his hands so close to the fastenings of Zolf’s trousers makes his erection twitch. Hamid’s too damn attractive for his own good. 

(It’s why Zolf even asked him to join the group in the first place. It’s not that he didn’t stop to think, it’s that before he even _could_ think, the offer was already out of his mouth. Hamid really is gorgeous. The man got in the way of righteous sacrifices, and yet here Zolf is, completely fine to ignore that so long as Hamid kisses him again.)

Hamid licks his palm before wrapping his hand around Zolf’s cock and _fuck,_ okay, Zolf is _so_ on board with this. Hamid strokes him slowly, and Zolf does his best not to fuck into Hamid’s hand. He tries to say something like praise, but he trails off, and Hamid doesn’t pay him any mind. 

(He’ll be embarrassed later, right now he’s far more interested in the friction and heat of Hamid’s hands.)

But then Hamid stops, and a noise something like a half-groan of complaint spills from Zolf’s throat. Hamid leans in, kisses him hard, all teeth and tongue. Zolf catches him by the back of the neck and holds him there, pulling Hamid’s lower lip in between his teeth. Hamid whimpers, but even as Zolf attempts to pull him in, he breaks away. Just a little, but still far too much. “Do you want to fuck me?” His voice is soft, breathy, barely there, and Zolf can feel it in the hand he has on Hamid’s neck.

And, _“Fuck,_ okay, yes,” because what the hell kind of objection is Zolf going to make? Hamid makes a quietly pleased sound as he kisses Zolf again, his hand pressed to Zolf’s chest in order to hold himself up. Zolf pulls him down, that arm collapsing, Hamid falling down completely on top of him. Zolf threads a hand through Hamid’s hair and tugs, just slightly; Hamid makes a very quiet moan. “Gods, you’re amazing,” Zolf mutters into the kiss because he _is._ Hamid makes a _very_ pleased noise at that, something like a whine humming under Zolf’s hand and against Zolf’s lips.

(Hamid’s overheating against him, skin flushed and radiating warmth. Zolf wonders if he’s just as warm on the inside.)

Hamid _does_ notice the scarring on his chest, but instead of asking what caused it, he presses kisses to the patches of shiny skin. And yeah, this was a stupid decision, but at least Hamid doesn’t ask. Zolf slides a hand down Hamid’s back until his fingers find— _“Hah,”_ Hamid gasps, pressing back against Zolf’s hand. He buries his face in Zolf’s chest as he whimpers louder and clenches around Zolf’s fingers. He whispers something incoherent, traces his sharp nails (claws?) featherlight against Zolf’s sides, and suddenly Zolf’s fingers are even slicker, even warmer.

If Hamid’s coherent enough to be casting spells, Zolf should probably be doing better.

He slides out of Hamid, much to Hamid’s dismay. “I know,” Zolf says, and his voice sounds rough as all hell, when did that happen? “Come on, turn over.” Hamid kisses him, one hand (definitely with claws) tightening on the back of Zolf’s head. Hamid hums low in his chest, biting just slightly at Zolf’s lips, and Zolf can’t help the way his hips rock up. “Hamid,” he tries again. Hamid makes it abundantly clear that he has no intention of getting off from on top, so Zolf flips them over himself.

Hamid stills when his back hits the sheets. Like, supernaturally still, completely frozen as he stares up at Zolf. Instead of kissing him like he’d intended, Zolf asks, “You good?”

Hamid swallows. “Um,” he says, uncertain and unsteady.

Zolf pushes himself a little higher up to give Hamid some room. “D’you want me to stop?” Zolf asks, even as he prays desperately the answer is no. Hamid shakes his head vehemently, which is good, because the only thing more embarrassing than fucking your new employee is getting _this_ close to fucking your new employee and then getting kicked out. Also, Zolf’s pretty sure he smells like sex, and even if it’s only across the hall, that would be one hell of a walk of shame.

“Just,” Hamid stammers, “just slow? Please?” He sounds so unsure that Zolf draws back even further. Or, he starts to, but Hamid settles his hands on the back of Zolf’s shoulders and pulls him back in. “I want– please, Zolf,” Hamid pleads, eyes black and begging, desperation flooding the thin sliver of his iris still visible around his pupil. And what kind of objection is Zolf going to make to that?

He lines himself up and pushes in slowly, stopping when Hamid makes a choked gasp. “Alright?” Zolf checks, and Hamid _whines,_ rocking his hips and squeezing around Zolf’s dick. Zolf groans, and it takes a heraklean amount of self-restraint not to just shove in the rest of the way right then.

Hamid’s fingers push into his shoulders, dragging him even closer. Hamid kisses Zolf’s neck, panting and sucking bruises by turn, and Zolf takes this as a cue. He presses in further, and Hamid is absolutely _searing_ on the inside, tight and hot and slick around him. Hamid gasps, “Gods, I– _oh!_ Please, _please don’t stop,_ Zolf, fuck, _Zolf,”_ and Zolf honestly doesn’t even care about how awkward this is going to be in the morning because Hamid is absolutely beautiful and he’s _moaning Zolf’s name._

Zolf bottoms out and Hamid groans, heels digging into his lower back. “Good?” Zolf asks, not because he wants his ego stroked, but because he’s not sure how slow Hamid meant.

_“Yes,”_ Hamid sighs emphatically into his neck, hips canting seemingly of their own volition.

“Want me to move?”

Hamid rumbles, low in his chest. Zolf can feel it more than he can hear it, reverberating in his own. “Slowly,” Hamid answers, before tacking on, “you feel _good,”_ in such a blissed-out tone that Zolf draws back just enough to kiss Hamid on the forehead.

Hamid’s eyes have fluttered closed, mouth in an _‘O’_ shape that shows off how perfect his lips are. Zolf’s absolutely wasted, which is why his filter doesn’t stop him from whispering, “Beautiful.” Hamid’s eyes open at that, but the drag of Zolf pulling out turns whatever he was going to say into a groan. “You’re so good,” Zolf continues, because Hamid _is,_ because Hamid pants and squirms around Zolf’s cock like it’s the best he’s ever had. 

Hamid pulls him into another kiss. Zolf pushes in again and Hamid tightens, rocking to meet him, and _gods_ if Zolf doesn’t want to fuck him into the mattress. “Please,” Hamid murmurs into the kiss, “Zolf, more, _more more more,_ I want—” Zolf snaps his hips to Hamid’s— _“oh!”_ Hamid is like a vice around him, hot breath that tastes like bad whiskey when Zolf presses their lips together. One of Hamid’s hands moves from Zolf’s shoulders and snakes down between his legs, rolling his clit in between two fingers. Hamid said slow, so Zolf pulls out slowly, ignoring Hamid’s whining. It must be a trick of the dim lighting that makes Hamid’s eyes seem to glow when he pushes Zolf up and growls, _“Move.”_

Zolf obliges.

(It’s not that Zolf is self-conscious, it’s just that for the longest time, being in his own skin felt _wrong,_ felt _dirty._ It’s better, now, since the capital-R Rituals that gave him the body he wanted. But he’s only had it for five years, and that’s barely the blink of an eye, and he hasn’t really done anything like this in a while. Not since Harringay, and Harringay was _nothing_ like this.)

Hamid’s fingers sink into the softer bits of Zolf’s shoulders, and it hurts, but not enough for Zolf to stop slamming into him. Hamid swears and whimpers and bites down, gasping _‘gods’_ and _‘Zolf’_ and _‘please’_ into the junction of his shoulder and his neck, and Zolf honestly doesn’t have any idea how he got this lucky.

(It’s not that Zolf is self-conscious, it’s just that he’s not confident. It’s just that next to fucking nobody has wanted him, before or after they figure out the scarring, so someone like _Hamid_ propositioning _him_ is. Weird. Off-putting. Worrying. Zolf figures there’s something that Hamid gets out of this, but hell if Zolf knows what it is.)

Hamid chokes, his heels digging in further, and Zolf moves to look at his face. Hamid looks absolutely _wrecked,_ face flushed dark and eyes unfocused. His eyes are still shining, and Zolf doesn’t think it’s just the wetness gathering at their edges. Hamid looks damn near euphoric, but Zolf still takes a hand off of his hip to swipe away the tears. “Shit, Hamid, did I hurt—”

“Nnh,” Hamid slurs, an edge of needy desperation creeping into his voice, “s’good. _So good,_ please, ’m _close,_ I want– _need—”_ Zolf kisses him, thrusts harder, listens to the whine Hamid rewards him with. 

Zolf should keep a better lid on all of the more emotional shit he wants to say, but he doesn’t. “You’re amazing,” he gasps, “you’re so– fuck, you’re _perfect,_ so godsdamn pretty – handsome, whatever – d’you have any idea how good you look right now?” Hamid’s hips stutter, eyes opening, and the _look on his face—_ “Perfect,” Zolf says again, and the word has no right to tumble past his lips in the reverential tone he usually reserves for works of art or divine miracles. 

But it does, and Hamid _keens,_ falling soft and sluggish against the sheets as orgasm washes over him. Zolf pulls out and finishes himself off in a few quick strokes, painting Hamid’s thighs white. Hamid grimaces. “I’m not cleaning that up,” he tells Zolf sleepily, and Zolf scoffs. 

He points out, _“You’re_ the one with the cleaning magic.” Hamid scowls, but the effect is ruined by how thoroughly mussed his hair is and how his eyes are still blown black.

(Zolf should just go to his own room. Zolf should collect his clothes and armour and then go to sleep in his own bed. Zolf should leave.)

Hamid edges under the covers and grumbles, “If anyone notices me limping tomorrow, it’s your fault.” Zolf rolls his eyes and joins him. Hamid makes a puzzled noise when Zolf wraps an arm around his waist.

“I’ll heal you in the morning,” Zolf says. It’s not a very good excuse for holding Hamid tight to his chest, but it’s the best one he can think of. Hamid hums and scoots back, decreasing the space between them as much as possible.

(Zolf will regret this later. Right now, he’s more focused on how warm Hamid is against him, how soft he feels under Zolf’s hands, how his breathing evens out alongside Zolf’s own. Zolf will regret this later. For now, Zolf is going to sleep, Hamid held close in his arms.)


End file.
